His Time
by BeeHawYeeHaw
Summary: This wasn't exactly how he thought it would go. What if Joe wanted revenge. REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED


This wasn't exactly how he thought it would go.

No, Alec Hardy thought it would be his heart. Giving out on him, becoming sporadic and ending him right there and then. Having to watch as his life flickered out thanks to the organ that was meant to keep him alive. Or the surgery, with the chances of no survival, it was a fair assumption. Those were how Alec Hardy thought he would die.

But something, God or fate, whatever it was Hardy wasn't sure and he honestly couldn't believe in it either, something had decided that wasn't the detective's time then, his string hadn't been snipped by the Fates and Nephthys wasn't on her way to escort him to Osiris. They had other plans, obviously.

These "plans" had completely blindsided Alec. There was no call, no warning, no suggestion. Yet they'd crept up on him and finally sunken their teeth in.

He had no chance to stand in his office, stare at a picture littered and note scribbled board for hours on end to figure it out. No connection of dots. He doubted his DS knew yet, she would find out of course, just not yet.

Maybe the man should have paid more attention to his nightmares, like some sort of forewarning. The increase in his routine terrors, it had to have been a sign (even if Hardy thought it bullshit, fake.) His own body tugged under the current and unable to find freedom, the harsh water flowing over his head and entering his lungs, encasing him as he reached for land. Numbing his limbs to the point of almost no movement, no escape from his liquid prison. So routine, he could reenact it during the day.

And so terrifying, he woke up wailing.

Unfortunately, the world didn't have time for his wallowing and doubting as Hardy was thrust back into it, head hitting sodden sand.

Above him was the solid shape of the moon, as bright as a torch. A nice image. Ruined, it was, as the silhouetted shape of a bald head popped into Hardy's view. He drew a grim, half-hearted smile.

"Welcome back, Joe."

Joe had reached the end of his tether, finally snapped under all of the pressure. The guilt and anger. So he'd sort out Hardy, intent on taking revenge for the family the Scot had broken. Alec couldn't blame him in a way, he too had known what it was like to lose them and he too wanted his family back. But Hardy hadn't lost his by murdering a boy. Hardy wasn't a child-killer, just broken hearted.

The man had moved onto bigger, more-fighting-in-them victims, not that Hardy wanted to call himself that. The game had stepped up from Danny Latimer to Alec Hardy. More capable of struggling and giving Joe a run for his money. He had the strength to battle the murderer if the man himself hadn't played dirty. No, he may have found a new target but Joe Miller wasn't man enough to take the thin, grumpy detective on without help.

Taken by surprise, from behind, Hardy never have a chance for himself before the veil of unconsciousness has taken over. Now he was here, kidnapped, bound and stuck.

"Alec Hardy…you ruined my life, ya'know?"

"No, I'll think you find you'd already done that."

Limbs tied limited Alec's movements, he couldn't fight and Joe knew it. He counted on it, Hardy realised, a glint in Joe's eyes as hands were roughly snatching at his shirt. There was no escape, no backup. Hardy was to die, another name attached to the murderous Miller, that is if they find his body or convict the man.

"You turned my wife,_ my Ellie_ against me!" Joe almost shouted, anger was building inside the man, playing to his own advantage.

"Again you're wrong, you-" Hardy couldn't finish as the air he was taking in suddenly morphed into liquid. He panicked.

Hardy wasn't a stranger to the feeling of drowning. Whether that be physically in the water, desperately trying to get to Pippa Gillespie's corpse, or waking up and struggling to catch his breath. Being familiar didn't make the experience any more fun, it still frightened him. Unable to intake oxygen, only water. Unable to break the surface-

Abruptly, Hardy was pulled out, drawing desperate breathes and feeling his heart hammering his chest harder than a mallet against concrete. Harsh and unforgiving coughs escaped his mouth, liquid spilling out.

Water washed over his eyes again, distorting his view as he grew desperate. Hardy couldn't hear a thing over the roaring in his ears, waves sloshing in and out. Waterlogged fabrics weight the detective down, aiding the hands desperate to keep him under the stream.

This was it. This was the end. He couldn't breathe…_he couldn't breathe!_ He couldn't give up, his daughter, Daisy. He might not have been the best father, Hardy could correct it all. He mustn't give up, but it was growing harder to fight. Retrained arms and legs flailing as wild as they could, gradually becoming more and more sluggish, unable to compete with the unwavering strength holding him under.

His eyelids began to flutter against the current. Alec didn't want to go…not yet, not like this. Hell, Hardy wouldn't be allowed to die with dignity. Trussed up like an animal, not even a swift death.

Then, lights, as blinding as ever, shone through the water and he remembered the moon. Bubbles left his slack jaw, just as round as the orb in the sky. Hardy couldn't tell if the pressure lifted above him, thoughts focused on the moon. His last clear image. A _nice image._


End file.
